backstage
by treesofstarlight
Summary: tumblr prompt. beca finds an indecent kommissar backstage who can't help but taunt her. (in which kommissar is a dick and beca mitchell is hopelessly bisexual)


**A/N:** i am such kommissar trash at this point it's not even funny (this is a tumblr prompt)

Backstage was always hectic at shows, but at the championships the anxious atmosphere had only been increased tenfold; there were teams whirring around, microphones being tested and people tripping over each other in every direction, shouting profanities and graphic insults in hopes of psyching out the other teams. She wasn't sure how many groups still had to go on before them– ten? Eleven? She was actively trying to not pay attention– but disaster struck when the legacy tore the seam of her vest. Personally, Beca thought it was superficial and the judges wouldn't care about something as trivial as a centimetre hole in her clothing, but Chloe insisted that it would be the downfall of their performance. So, seeing as she was captain, Beca was tasked with hunting down a sewing kit somewhere in the carnage.

Of course, no one paid much attention when she asked. Everyone was far too consumed in last minute memorizations or rehearsals that a second glance was even too much to ask for– _God, these a cappella nerds can be dicks,_ she thought bitterly. Frustrated with the lack of response, she decided to scour empty dressing rooms; after all, there had to be one somewhere, right? It's not like every other group was too perfect for a wardrobe malfunction. She would press her ear to the doors of each room, scurrying away if she heard commotion on the inside and entering if she didn't. After four, she was beginning to feel quite apathetic. It was Junk's fault; shouldn't she be the one doing this? Finally finding a fifth that seemed empty, Beca forced the door open and walked inside without hesitation.

"You don't like knocking, no?"

 **God, no.** The only member of Das Sound Machine that lingered in the dressing room was, of course, Kommissar, half-naked and looking far more seductive than Beca was ever equipped to handle. Her underwear was black and lacy ( _of course she's just constantly wearing lingerie_ ), her mesh button-up unfastened and loose at her sides, barely covering her bra. "Sorry, I was just, uh– sewing kit. Looking for a sewing kit. I'll go," she spoke shakily with every intention to turn around and leave, but her eyes remained wandering over the blonde's frame. Shaking her head, she held her hands up. "I'll go right now. Yeah."

"What's the hurry, little maus?"

Her back already turned, Beca scrunched her eyes shut, silently cursing herself. Why that room? Of the dozens of dressing rooms, she had to barge into that one? She found herself cursing whatever deity may have been listening. Slowly, she spun on her heels, feigning nonchalance by shoving her hands in her pockets and giving a small shrug. She could tell that the girl was teasing her, clearly acutely aware of just how attractive she looked in that moment. "You, uh, probably wanna finish getting changed."

Kommissar flashed a small smirk, moving toward her in confident strides. _Why does everything she do look so sexy?_ Her hands curled around the collar of Beca's vest, straightening it slightly, holding her close. The brunette became increasingly alarmed at their dwindling proximity as Kommissar's eyes found hers. "Perhaps I can do without clothes for a few more minutes."

Completely flustered, Beca backed away slightly, only to have the taller girl simply lessen the gap again. This time, her hand reached behind Beca to shut the door. Using her height to her advantage, she towered over the far tinier girl, her eyes dark and intimidating; Beca doubted that her knees wouldn't buckle when she was being started at like that by a person who looked like she did. "That's–" she cut herself off momentarily, her voice reducing to a whine. "That's not fair."

"What's not fair?" Okay, now she was definitely teasing.

"I should go."

"Should you?"

"Stop doing that!"

Finally giving up her false innocence, Kommissar laughed slightly. "Fine, fine," she began, her tone intimidating and her height somehow seeming even more pronounced than it was before. "I needed to psych you out, you see. Get in your head."

Beca fixed her line of vision on her shoes, arms crossed, wishing that the floor would somehow open up and swallow her whole. How did she always manage to embarrass herself in front of her? "It didn't work." She finally retorted, maintaining her gaze.

"No?" Kommissar purred. Beca felt the girl's fingers catch the bottom of her chin, tilting it upward until their eyes were locked and she suddenly felt every insecurity she ever had rush to the surface. "Let's try this, then."

The kiss was slow, even innocent; Beca marvelled at the way she could feel her heart accelerate under Kommissar's touch, her fingertips feeling as though they were burning. When they pulled apart, Beca struggled to keep herself from holding the back of the German girl's neck and pulling her toward her again, wanting desperately to feel their lips pressed together once more. She didn't, though– she was far too nervous.

"Did that work?"

"No." Beca lied, focusing all her willpower on turning around and leaving Kommissar in her tracks. It didn't work. Of course it didn't.

They stared at each other for a long moment until Beca spoke.

"Just shut up and kiss me again."


End file.
